Something Like Curry, Something Like Fairy Floss
by Hannibal the Animal
Summary: Gift fic for FaustAutumn
1. Sugary Sweet & Utterly Spicy

**TITLE:** _Something Like Curry, Something Like Fairy Floss_

**PAIRING:** _Waltember (Walter/September)_

**CHARACTERS:** _Walter Bishop, September/Observer_

**GENRE:** _light, fluff_

**RATING:** _PG-13_

**SUMMARY:**  _September is curious about the concept of love and decides to ask a trusted source regarding the matter._

**CHALLENGE**_**:**__ WalterxSeptember for FaustAutumn_

**WORD COUNT:** _1548_

**WARNINGS: **_Mention of lesbian sex? And wjobssessed said I need to add this: "do not eat or drink while reading this!"_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _*hangs head ashamed* I really like this pairing, even though I wasn't sure at first!_

**DISCLAIMER:** _Obvious this isn't mine. _

* * *

September watched his strange friend licking off his fingers, cleaning off the thick grease of the barbequed ribs. Walter quite enjoyed food, so he knew if he was to lure the man out of his son's hold, he could usually do it with promises and offers of victuals. At this moment they were at a small barbeque restaurant that September had been interested in trying; the absolutely rare steak had been good but the "hell-fire" sauce was not as spicy as he'd hoped. The man in the next booth over claimed it made him sweat and his eyes water, but this apparently was a misleading review—the flavour had been merely delicate on September's own palate.

Walter had been excited to order boysenberry pie (which he'd eaten first) and a side plate of "maple glazed-white peppered-slow flame grilled" beef ribs. They'd both finished their meal and were letting the food settle. Fingers still greasy, Walter was gulping down his fourth iced tea and chewing on the ice. September wondered what it was like to be the brilliant scientist, always hungry for flavour and information.

September cleared his throat. "I don't understand the concept of love."

"Does _anyone_?" Walter grumbled, emptying the last of the ice into his mouth.

"You have a more heightened comprehension of the matter, though. I sadly do not."

"It's like spicy food. Like your_ jah-lap-en-noes."_

It took September a moment to process what Walter had said. "You meant jalapenos?"

He nodded. "Yes. Like those."

"I believe I do not taste a pepper in the same way you do. From my understanding, I cannot taste flavour as strongly as you might."

"Oh. Well, love is a very spicy thing." Walter looked at him curiously. "What's your favourite food?"

September hardly had to think about that. "Fugu sashimi and the strongest wasabi available. Perhaps some fried octopus on the side."

"Ew. But love is like that. It tastes like the best and strongest flavour ever." Walter slowly drew wet lines on the tabletop with his straw. "Love…tastes like a chili-cheese burger. With extra mustard. Well, at least to me!"

"So you indeed find it very pleasurable?"

"Absolutely!" Walter added. "Now, the love you might feel for a friend or family member is quite different."

"How?"

"It tastes sweet, like candy. It isn't overpowering." Walter held his empty glass up in a toast. "My love for Peter is like a root beer float. With extra ice cream."

"I can't taste sugar," September admitted, a bit sadly.

"And you have no family, I'm sure," the scientist added sympathetically.

"No." September thought a moment more. "The action of holding hands—is that pleasurable?"

"Very. Even if it's with someone you don't care for much," Walter said, nodding fervently. "Sometimes in St. Claire's Carlos would hold my hand as we walked to breakfast. It's an action that brings much comfort."

"And the pressing of the labia between two people?"

Walter shrugged, studying the lines he'd made on the table. "Oh, I don't know much about the nature of lesbians. I can ask my assistant, though. She might know."

"I was referring to the lips," September specified.

"Oh. Oh! Kissing!" Walter said looking up, his cheeks a little pink.

"Yes."

Walter cocked his head. "What?"

"I was asking about kissing. Is it a satisfying action?" September reminded.

A large grin passed across Walter's mouth. "Oh, very! Especially when she is a large breasted woman! Makes you dizzy!"

September tilted his head, trying to imagine this. "The mammary glands effect kissing?"

Walter looked as though he were contemplating this then corrected himself. "Well, not if it's between two men, I suppose."

"So it isn't important for the partner to have that aspect of anatomy?" September clarified.

"Not really I suppose. Unless you like having something to grab at." Walter held his hands out in front of him, acting as though he was squeezing two large objects, a devilish smile on his face. "Would you like to go to the park? I'd like to get some walking in before I have to return to the laboratory."

"Of course."

September placed two twenty dollar bills on the table as they got up from their seats, handing Walter an additional napkin to clean his fingers off once more—Walter merely put it in his shirt's breast pocket. They exited the restaurant and strolled over to the park across the street.

Spring had been kind to the city. Small, butterscotch yellow flowers had bloomed in the flowerbeds that surrounded the park's walkways and the local _Turdus migratorius _hopped in the lush grass, hunting for earthworms. The clear sky had small clouds and the air didn't seem to be too cold. Walter pointed to a man pushing a vending cart and eagerly exclaimed, "Candy!"

September followed after his friend, who was eagerly pointing to a paper stick with a small amount of periwinkle fairy floss spun around it. "One, please. Blue."

September handed the man a few single dollar bills and they continued on their walk about the park before settling on a bench, side by side to watch other humans wandering by. He took his hat off and placed it in his lap then looked over at his friend.

"Is it good?"

Walter's lips were sticky with sugar. "Absolutely."

A male and female passed them, holding hands and leaning their heads together to kiss. September watched them inquisitively.

How did they know when to pull away for air?

Did it always make both partners smile afterwards?

Why did their mouths open at the union?

"Observe, chemistry in action," Walter commented, watching the couple as well as he licked flattened puffs of blue fairy floss off his thumb.

"I would like to try that," September admitted boldly, curiosity having gotten the better of him.

His companion paused in the cleaning of his digits. "Try what?"

"Kissing."

Walter shrugged. "You can do whatever you want."

So September followed the steps of kissing he had learned from black and white films.

_First, one takes the other's face in one's hands._

Gently, not wanting to hurt or startle the man beside him, September pulled the napkin out of Walter's shirt pocket and carefully arranged it on the scientist's corduroy trousers, then plucked the fairy floss from Walter's hands, laying the sticky spun sugar on the scientist's trousers. His hands cupped Walter's warm skin, feeling the slight prickle of stubble against his palms.

_Second, one inhales or ensures there is sufficient oxygen in the lungs._

September took a breath, though it was fairly shallow. The amount of oxygen in this atmosphere was still more than necessary for him.

_Third, one purses the lips._

September pushed his lips out so slightly that it was hardly noticeable.

_Fourth, one brings the other's face close enough that neither participant is beyond their axis of balance when the pursuer is leaning in as well._

September once again had to be delicate in his method—it simply wouldn't do to injure his friend.

_Fifth, close eyes._

While it was simply not in his nature to close his eyes, especially in such a public setting which left him entirely vulnerable, he knew that the proper order of things must be done in order to experience the action fully.

_Sixth, one presses their lips to their partner's._

September leaned the rest of the way in, his mouth meeting Walter's. Walter was quiet and seemed to be receptive, understand the experiment being had. Walter leaned in further and tilted his head slightly, which suddenly made it much easier to move without bumping their faces together. September had to admit the sudden feeling of warm lips against his was welcome and was somewhat excited to feel Walter's lips parting open for him.

Though the excitement was quickly replaced with shock as something attempted entering his mouth and his eyes flew open. Walter's eyes were closed and once September identified said object as the scientist's tongue, he allowed his eyes to close slowly again. He was hit with the realisation that this was why some humans kissed with an open mouth and as Walter's tongue stroked slowly along his own, he wondered if this was an act of transferring food or for trust between the partners, after all one could easily be bitten at this point.

Walter retracted his tongue and lips for a moment and September believed that the kiss was over, but it seemed his friend was simply shifting into a more comfortable position and they resumed. September found he liked sharing the breath of someone else. It was damp, warm, and low in oxygen, reminding him of a dark place he once knew. Walter's mouth was somewhat sticky and September realised it was the sugar he'd been eating earlier.

He found his hands drifting from the scientist's face to the back of his skull, fingers twining gently in the soft, graying curls. And as…enjoyable as it was, September remembered that Walter needed oxygen more than him, so he finally forced himself to pull away from his friend, though Walter seemed content resting their heads together as the man caught his breath.

"I wanted to see if love tasted the way you said it did," the Observer confessed quietly.

"Spicy love or sugary love?"

September brought their lips together again.

_Both_.


	2. Alphabet Numbers

**TITLE:** _Alphabet Numbers_

**PAIRING:** _Waltember (Walter/September)_

**CHARACTERS:** _Walter Bishop, September/Observer_

**GENRE:** _some_ _fluff, some romance, some groping_

**RATING:** _PG-13_

**SUMMARY:**  _Walter finally learns how to text. _

**CHALLENGE**_**:**__ WalterxSeptember for FaustAutumn_

**WORD COUNT:** _2412_

**WARNINGS: **_none_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _I love this pairing!!! And I was tempted to take this further, but September doesn't seem like the type of Observer to put out before the third date ;D_

**DISCLAIMER:** _Obvious this isn't mine._

* * *

Walter pushed the alphabet keys on his brand new cell phone, snickering as he sent another witty text message to his son's cell phone. Peter was sitting on the couch watching the television while Walter sat on the bed, exploring the wonders and joys of texting. He pressed the send button and he quickly looked up to see the cell phone on Peter's lap light up.

Peter glanced down and groaned. "Walter…"

"Pick it up and look at it!" he said excitedly.

His son looked at him pointedly. "This is the last one."

"Fine."

Peter looked down at the screen and promptly returned his attention to the television. " '_Boobs'_. Nice, Walter."

He nodded, quiet pleased with his work. "Yes, but did you see that I wrote it out with numbers? Eight, zero, zero, eight, five!"

"Let me watch this," his son snapped.

Walter wondered whom he could possibly write to next, someone who would talk back to him—

Inspiration hit and he quickly selected the next recipient from his "phone book" and typed up a short message.

"Who are you writing to?" Peter called out from the couch, his eyes still not leaving the television.

"My friend."

"The Observer?"

Walter nodded, carefully pressing the proper buttons. "Yes. He likes to talk even though he is a quiet man. He has a lot to think about. Hah! Message sent!"

*******

In the darkness of night September lay on the top of a hotel bed, his body still dressed in his suit. The only light in the room came from the edges of the curtains that had been drawn shut, the only sound from the streets outside the door. He hadn't slept in years—it was a very painful event for him and fortunately his body did not require it often. He stared at the ceiling, his hands folded across his abdomen. A small noise emitted from his cell phone and he sat up, looking over at the hotel dresser. He didn't recognise the double beep that played from its small speakers and he approached the device slowly. Picking it up, he saw the lit up screen had text across it.

_One new text message._

He selected the button to 'view' the message and was a little surprised at what he saw.

_From WalterB: Hello :)_

September looked at the message and something made his hands grip the phone the slightest bit tighter. Walter wanted to talk to him this late at night? He quickly typed back a message of his own.

_From MonthNine: Hello, Walter._

He didn't remove his eyes from the screen as he returned to the foot of the hotel bed and sat down, eagerly awaiting the man's response. Walter's typing didn't appear to be as quick as his, but the message was prompt nonetheless.

_From WalterB: How are you? :)_

A multitude of words ran through his mind: excited, lonely, happy, content, surprised, nervous—

_From MonthNine: I am well. How are you?_

September exhaled sharply, wondering where all of this was leading.

*******

"You know, you can abbreviate words. Like the word "you" can become the letter "u" instead."

Walter looked up from his phone's screen. "Pardon?"

Peter looked over at him. "I said, you can use the letter "U" in place of the word "you" to cut down on the amount you have to type out."

"Oh! Thank you, son!" he said gratefully.

September's reply popped up on his screen and Walter decided this was the perfect opportunity to use his new found knowledge.

_From WalterB: I'm fine. I'm watching Peter watch TV. What are U doing? :)_

September's answer took a little longer than Walter expected, which wasn't easy to wait for, given how impatient a man he was.

_From MonthNine: I am not doing anything._

Walter suddenly wondered if September was lonely.

_From WalterB: Would U like to find something to eat? There is a restaurant down the street I really like. We could have a late dinner. :)_

Pleased with what he had written, he pressed the "send" key.

"Jeez are you typing a novel?" Peter called out from the couch.

Walter glared at his son. "**No**."

He tapped his fingers on his knee until his friend replied, though his response wasn't quite what he'd expected.

_From MonthNine: Is your keyboard malfunctioning? Your messages have all ended with the symbols ":)"_

_*******_

_From WalterB: It's supposed to B a smiling face. Turn your phone on its side to see it. :)_

September cocked his head slightly and turned the phone to study what Walter had illustrated for him, but he simply couldn't see it.

_From MonthNine: I have been told I lack the imagination to see representative symbols such as those. _

Walter's reply was quick.

_WalterB: Oh. :( I am very sorry to hear that._

September suddenly wanted to see Walter very much. He hadn't seen him since they…kissed and there was a suddenly longing filling him. He wished to be close to this man who could see the image of a smile in two dots and a line—

_From MonthNine: I will be at your restaurant in ten minutes. I will see you there, I hope. _

He was in such a rush out the hotel door he completely missed Walter's final message.

_From WalterB: I'll meet U there._

*******

Walter sat across from him in the empty diner style restaurant, grinning ear to ear as his hands absentmindedly creased and worried a napkin. "I told Peter I was coming here. He gave me some money!"

Walter showed a creased twenty-dollar bill and a five, flattening and smoothing them on the booth's table. September's own fingers traced over the twenty, it being his favourite number.

"I can pay for our food, Walter," he said, feeling the emotions still embedded in the money from the younger Bishop.

"Thank you. I should save this money for Peter. He should have a piggy bank for his allowance." Walter pulled the money off the table and began stuffing it into his trouser pocket. A large grin crossed the man's lips. "So kissing. Was it all you'd hoped it would be?"

September wondered if Walter was intentionally bumping his foot against his. "I did hope that it wouldn't be unpleasant."

The scientist looked thoughtful for a moment. "I had a girl say I was sloppy once. But I was fairly drunk that—"

"Was it what you'd hoped for?" September interrupted.

"I'd never intended on kissing you," Walter replied calmly and September wasn't sure what to say.

However at this time a waitress approached their booth and September said firmly, "The spiciest dish you have."

The waitress wrote on her notepad. "Ten-shooter buffalo wings."

He nodded. "Rare."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not allowed to serve undercooked poultry."

"Fine," September said, turning his attention to the napkin dispenser.

Anger didn't come easily to him, but at the moment, September was feeling something similar to it. He wasn't sure if it had to do with the chicken or Walter.

"I want mashed potatoes," the scientist told the waitress pleasantly.

She raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

"Oh! No, I want the pot roast dinner. With mashed potatoes." Walter handed over his menu to the woman.

"Comin' right up."

Alone once more, September nervously ran his fingers over the crease in his trousers legs.

"I look unusual to you."

"No more than that woman over there. She really ought to have that mole on her neck looked at." Walter pointed to the waitress who had taken their order.

"I was referring to the fact you do not find me sexually attractive."

"Oh and I'm sure you think of me to be a catch," Walter mumbled sarcastically as he turned back.

"Catch of what?"

"It means you like how I look."

"In this world your appearance is more acceptable than mine."

"Yes, but you look younger than I." Walter sighed.

This absolutely amused September. "Do I?"

"Oh definitely." Walter sat up a little straighter. "I'm just an old bastard. I'm far past my prime."

"Past your prime?" he echoed, unsure what the term meant.

"It means I'm not 'sexually attractive', as you so aptly put it."

September wasn't sure how to respond and so they were silent until the waitress returned with their food.

"Ten-shooter buffalo wings," she said placing the chicken in front of him and the full meal in front of Walter, "and a pot roast dinner."

September watched Walter curiously; the scientist was humming happily as he began to mix the mashed potatoes and cooked spinach together with his fork. His humming became louder as he cut up his pot roast and proceeded to mix that into the mashed potatoes/spinach/gravy blend.

"That looks good," September offered, knowing that that was a polite thing to say.

Walter scooped some of the combination onto his fork and held it out in front of his face. "Open up."

It took September a few seconds to realise Walter was trying to feed him and he opened his mouth to accept the food. Walter put the fork in his mouth and September obediently closed his mouth, swallowing the food whole.

"Thank you," he said and Walter smiled.

"I envy your ability to consume food the way you do."

September gave an acknowledging nod and began to eat the buffalo wing whole, crunching the occasional bone to help his digestive tract. Walter had planted his elbows on the table and started wolfing down the meal. September suspected that the scientist might be the only one whom could possible keep up at the same pace as him in regards to food and five minutes later, these suspicions were confirmed. Walter however wanted to consume a chocolate malt before they left and September watched him in silence.

The ticket paid, the two left the restaurant. September affixed his hat firmly on his head and turned to Walter.

"Shall I walk you back to your hotel building?" September offered.

They began walking before Walter ever said, "That would be nice."

Walter's warm, somewhat sweaty and greasy hand found his and September raised his brow.

"I know the way to your building," he said then realisation hit him. "Oh, did you forget?"

Walter gave him a kind smile. "No, I just wanted to hold your hand. Would you rather not?"

"If you like it, then I will hold hands with you."

Walter's hand tightened around his and September paused, staring at the man curiously. Why was Walter initiating additional unnecessary physical? He allowed his hand to tighten as well, hoping that was the proper response in the act of holding hands and he suddenly found himself stumbling backwards into the unlit doorway of a closed shop, Walter lips crushed against his own. September felt his heart pounding in his chest and could feel Walter's too. He was being pinned against the hard wall, the scientist's hands grasping his wrists tight enough to cause bruises.

"I did like kissing you," Walter murmured thickly against his lips. "I've always liked kissing. And I've missed it. Over seventeen years since I last kissed someone."

"Seventeen years is a long time to—" September was forced to pause as his lips were against Walter's once more. "—go without something you love."

September couldn't recall a time he'd ever been this close to a human, especially a male. Walter was so warm, the doorway was so cold, the scientist had his body against his… he tried to focus on the feeling of the man's beating heart as their chests touched.

"I missed you during the time I was in St. Claire's," the man said softly against the side of his mouth.

September didn't want to close his eyes as they kissed, but his body involuntarily responded that way. "I had missed you from the night we first met."

Walter pulled back for a moment, holding September's face. "You brought Peter and I back to life."

September could see respect in Walter's facial features, but there was also happiness; he wondered for a moment if this was what the word 'reverence' meant.

"You were both needed." September sensed lips along his neck and felt the need say something comforting to the man. "You had already lost him once before."

"He was dead and now he's not," Walter sighed, his teeth grazing along September's earlobe.

"Now he's not!" September gasped, eyes rolling skyward.

He could feel his hat becoming crushed between his head and the wall and moved his hand to pull it off, clutching it by the brim against his thigh. Walter's hand moved to cushion September's bare head from the hard surface of the doorway and maneuvered his knee between September's legs. September never had an opportunity to use an expletive—not that he knew any—but he decided this was the perfect opportunity to use the word he delighted in hearing humans shout:

"What!"

Walter stumbled back and blinked a bit before giving him a broad smile. He moved away from September and wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand.

Walter sounded like he was confessing. "Oop! Yes! I forgot you were the one who paid for dinner!"

September had no idea what that meant or why Walter was grinning like that, but he simply nodded and wondered why his face felt so hot.

Walter pulled him out of the doorway and into the light cast by the street lamp. "You're blushing!" he giggled.

September's hand went up to his face to feel his cheek. "Blushing?"

Walter straightened his shirt. "Well, not so much anymore. But you were."

"Is that good?"

Walter seemed smug. "I take it as a compliment."

"I look forward to seeing you again," September said as he pulled his heavy wool coat back down to fit comfortably on his form once more.

"You're not going to walk me the rest of the way to my hotel?" Walter asked, looking both hurt and amused at the same time.

September was a little surprised. "Would you like me to?"

Walter seemed very childlike in that moment. "We never finished holding hands."

September offered out his hand to the scientist, palm up, a gesture of peace and welcoming. Walter, whose lips were still pink and swollen from their kissing in a darkened doorway, slipped his hand into his. For next block and a half they walked together, enjoying the silence and the warmth of physical contact.

September decided that next time he would send the dinner invitation first.


	3. Running on Sugar & Steam

**TITLE:** _Running on Sugar & Steam_

**PAIRING:** _Waltember (Walter/September)_

**CHARACTERS:** _Walter Bishop, September/Observer, Peter Bishop_

**GENRE:** _AU, some_ _fluff, some romance_

**RATING:** _PG-13_

**SUMMARY:** _A Steampunk inspired AU _

**CHALLENGE**_**:**__ WalterxSeptember for FaustAutumn, time machines, fish_

**WORD COUNT:** _3061_

**WARNINGS: **_none_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _Inspired after reading way too much Jooster fic, needing to write another chapter to this collection of drabbles, and going through steampunk fiction I'd written a while ago._

**DISCLAIMER:** _Obvious this isn't mine._

* * *

Standing in shirtsleeves and a waistcoat in the kitchen of the large Bishop household, Dr Bishop's valet September stood at the heavy cutting block as he diced carrots for the summer afternoon's luncheon. There was a wonderful quiet in the large house and of course, right as he thought that, he could hear a loud explosion from the direction of Dr Bishop's workshop. He paused in chopping the vegetables for a moment, but the safety alarm didn't sound so he resumed his work. Nearly ten seconds later, there was a crackling over the speaker by the butler's pantry door and September turned his attention to the large box. He leaned over and turned a small brass knob, speaking into the small recorder.

"Yes, sir?"

His employer's voice came over the speaker and even though he couldn't see Bishop's face, September could tell his brow was furrowed. "I need lemons...and sugar..." After a moment he added, "Mint!"

"Yes, sir."

He turned the knob off and after quickly placing the chopped carrots into the salad bowl, he retrieved a pitcher, the sugar bowl, a few fresh lemons, and placed them on the serving tray he used. Along the way, he remembered he hadn't returned Peter's shirts to his room and the young man was sure to need them; he usually spent the mornings off at the Bureau courting the young lady he worked with. In the laundry, he set down the tray to quickly take the basket of freshly folded and pressed clothing up to young Mr Bishop's room.

Sure enough as he climbed the stairs, there was a loud bout of cursing and banging from the bedroom that belonged to Dr Bishop's son. The door was thrown open dramatically and the young man came stomping out into the hallway wearing his dressing gown.

"Blast it, Walter! You've come in and ruined my shirts again! Now I have nothing to—" Mr Bishop paused as he spotted the bald valet and gave an embarrassed, "Oh hello, September."

September offered out the basket, knowing that the young man rarely liked having him in his room. "Freshly pressed."

Mr Bishop took the basket and turned back into his room, while grumbling, "I have no idea why he doesn't just blow his nose on a handkerchief like a normal person…"

Peter shut the door heavily and September quickly returned to the laundry to collect the tray he'd placed there. He continued to the workshop at the opposite side of the house, hoping his employer wasn't too irritated with having to wait; Dr Bishop was a _highly_ impatient man.

In the workshop there was a fresh set of scorch marks on the ground and sooty awards and newspaper clippings framed on the wall proclaiming the genius of the man who worked in here. Inventor of the Climate Dome! Wizard of Wires! Creator of the Cross-Continental Zepplin!

At the sound of September's entrance, Dr Walter Bishop spun around and removed his goggles. The man's eyebrows were singed and there was soot across his face, the only bare skin in the outline of the protective eyeware he'd been wearing earlier. He was wearing a thick leather apron that had protected him from countless experiments gone wrong and September realised he was going to have to spend a good portion of the night working out the scorch marks in the arms of the button front oxford he was wearing. Brilliant blue eyes glimmered in the poorly lit workshop at the sight of the tray and he quickly pulled off his thick leather work gloves as he eyed the bowl of sugar hungrily.

"Your lemons, sugar, and mint," September presented.

"Mint in lemonade is for the heathens!" Dr Bishop snatched the sprigs off the tray and stomped them under his boot.

There was a loud bang from the front of the house, the sound of the front door being slammed and Dr Bishop jumped slightly.

"Who's that?"

September set the tray down on an empty space at the worktable. "Mr Bishop leaving for an afternoon with young Miss Olivia Dunham."

"Oh!" He cocked his head. "Who?"

"Your son, sir," the bald valet explained.

"Oh, I bet he would have liked some lemonade…" Dr Bishop filled the pitcher with water from a tap above the worktable. "Save some for him."

"Yes, sir." September watched his employer curiously. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Stand over there, please." September stood patiently next to the large metal time machine as he watched Dr Bishop begin to make the overly sweet lemonade. "Done! Would you like a glass?"

"Thank you, sir." September accepted the beaker full of the lemony sugar water—it was so sweet it almost made his teeth shake. "How is the time machine coming along?"

"Bah! This pile of metal is worthless shit!" The man gave it a kick and then grabbed onto the frame, swinging up into the driver's seat, which caused him to spill a great majority of his lemonade. "Would you like a seat?"

He accepted his employer's hand as he was helped up into the contraption. "Thank you, sir."

Dr Bishop set his glass down and gripped the time machine's steering wheel, spinning it wildly. "Whee! Full steam ahead!"

September politely sipped the saccharine drink while leaning in the same direction as the scientist, playing along with the scenario that they were navigating time and space. Dr Bishop continued making noises like a running engine and finally when he gulped down the rest of his glass did he say something to September.

"What year do you want to visit when this is complete?" he asked, running his finger back and forth across the glass' rim.

"What year, sir?" September inquired.

Bishop nodded. "Yes, what year would you want me to turn the dial to when I get this stupid thing working?"

September though for a moment and then replied, "I would like the see the millennium."

"Ah, the age of flying automobiles and colonies on the moon. A good choice. I would love to see what their opium dens are like." Dr Bishop pulled his goggles back on and declared, "Then it's settled. We'll go to the year two thousand!" He turned back to him. "That's the year you were referring to, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you believe in time travel? My son says I'm crazy, that it won't actually work. You're not just saying things to humour me, are you?" Dr Bishop asked worriedly.

"I believe all things are possible, sir. I also believe that you, if anyone, are capable of making it happen," September said confidently.

His employer smiled at him. "I would be happy to take you along with me."

Their eyes met before they quickly glanced away; their time alone together was often brief, usually resorting to stealing moments together in the butler's pantry or in passing in the upstairs hallway. Even though Peter was out of the house at the moment, Dr Bishop was expecting a delivery from the local market and it wouldn't do to answer the door after being 'interrupted'. Sure enough, the house rang out with the clear sound of the door's chime and September hurried out of the time machine, quickly picking up the crushed sprigs of mint off the cement floor before leaving Bishop alone with his work.

* * *

It was 'round midnight when a hurried knocking on his quarter's door woke him from the light sleep he was in. Quickly putting on his dressing gown with the expectation of an emergency being announced, September opened the door to see a giddy Dr Bishop dressed in full driving uniform: goggles, helmet, and all!

Bewildered, September asked, "Sir?"

"It's done! I've finished it," Dr Bishop said triumphantly.

"The time machine?"

"Yes! Hurry and dress!" Dr Bishop pushed an armful of clothes into his arms and disappeared from the servants' quarters.

September looked down at the clothes and realised it was a brown leather driving suit, complete with it's own matching aviator cap and safety goggles. While this outfit was a far cry from his tailored suits, he had no other option if he were to help Dr Bishop with whatever it was he wanted. He quickly changed into the awkward clothing and made his way to the workshop.

Which was empty.

September observed the partially open door leading the garden and he quickly went outside to find the time machine parked in the centre of the road, but Dr Bishop no where in sight.

"Sir?" he called out cautiously, not wanting to startle him.

Dr Bishop leapt out of the bushes, shouting wildly. September stared at him blankly and Dr Bishop's rowdy smile disappeared.

"Not scared?"

September shook his head, trying not to laugh at the man's disappointment. "No, sir."

Bishop sighed and they walked out to the time machine. "C'mon. The future can't wait."

Once seated in the time machine, Dr Bishop took charge.

"Goggles on?"

"Yes, sir."

"Strapped in?"

"Yes, sir."

"Helmet?"

"Yes, sir."

"We're all set! To the future!" Dr Bishop shouted, punching the air before releasing a long lever between their seats.

The time machine jerked forward violently and there was a bright flash of blue light as they began careen down the road, fishtailing slightly as Dr Bishop tried to steer it. September was not a man who usually showed his emotions but at the moment his hands were white knuckling the sides of his seat, his eyes wide. Dr Bishop was shouting obscenities and something about forgetting to work on the connexion between the front and rear wheel axels. They were swiftly approaching the bottom of the street where a large, wild bramble formed a hedge around a field. September was beginning to panic and looked over at the scientist.

"Where are the brakes, sir?" he shouted.

Behind the goggles, Dr Bishop gave him a confused look. "Brakes?"

The brambles upon them, Dr Bishop threw up his hands in front of his face and squealed, "We're going to crash! We're going to crash!"

The time machine barreled through the shrubs and they continued to speed downhill until they reached a gully, at which time a grassy slope stopped them in an abrupt and jarring manner. When September looked over at Dr Bishop, the man's goggles were on lopsided and he gave a shy smile.

"You all right, September?" Dr Bishop asked in a shaky voice.

September quickly removed his own goggles and helmet to inspect his employer further. "Indeed. And you, sir?"

"Never been better!" Dr Bishop took off his safety gear and looked around them. "It's certainly green for the future.

September realised it was time to break the man's heart. "I don't think we're in the future, sir."

It appeared his scientist already knew this. "But I was so sure."

His hand found Dr Bishop's and he said sympathetically, "I'm sorry, sir. I know how hard you've worked on it."

Gently, September pressed his lips to his employer's temple, a sympathetic and chaste kiss. Bishop sighed, still staring down at the altimeter and even in the faintest light of the stars above, September could see a build up of tears in his eyes.

"At least the motor ran," Bishop said with a halfhearted chuckle.

September nodded as he unbuckled the two of them. "Very true, sir. Now let's get out of here."

They crawled, somewhat fell out of the time machine and inspected the damage. Steam was coming from the front of the crushed hood and the back wheels were up in the air, spinning in opposite directions. The windshield at the front was cracked slightly and the front wheels were missing entirely.

September climbed up the grassy embankment they had came down and tried to pull it loose to no avail. "It's stuck."

Dr Bishop joined him, grabbing onto the back as well. "Blast. Let's try together."

"On three," September instructed.

Dr Bishop began pulling without waiting, but even the two of them couldn't get the heavy metal machine to budge.

"Well, maybe it's time to head home. We can pull this hunk of junk out later," his employer spat, looking disgusted at his invention.

September couldn't see any other choice but to agree and together, hand in hand, the embarked on the entirely uphill journey back home. Upon reaching the Bishop house however, they saw Mr Bishop storming out of the house in his dressing gown and promptly dropped their physical contact.

"Walter, where have you been? I've been looking for you all day!" Mr Bishop shouted angrily.

Dr Bishop scoffed as he pushed past his son to enter the front gate. "Oh, quit being so dramatic. I just had a nasty roll down the hill—I've only been gone for half an hour at most."

"No, Walter. Last night I heard a loud bang out in the front and when I went down to investigate, I found two burning tire marks—" Mr Bishop pointed to the road where there were two black parallel lines, "and no one in sight. Naturally I suspected you were involved but when I went to find you, you were nowhere to be found. I then went looking for him—" he pointed to September, "but couldn't find him either."

Dr Bishop tossed his head haughtily. "We didn't 'run off'. We went for a ride in the time machine and it didn't work. We rode down the street haphazardly and crashed into the brush at the end of the row and fell into a gully. We have spent the past half hour pulling ourselves out of the embankment and walking home."

"Mr Bishop, might we see the day's paper?" September inquired, hoping this would settle the confusion.

The three traipsed back to the house and in the drawing room, Dr Bishop's son presented them with,

"Thursday evening post."

"But we left on Wednesday!" Dr Bishop's face lit up with realisation. "It worked! The time machine worked!"

"Congratulations, sir." September found his pocket watch and saw it was behind the one over the mantle. "It appears we went twenty-four hours and sixteen minutes into the future."

"I'm going to bed." Mr Bishop jabbed his finger at his father. "And you need to go to bed, too. We'll discuss this in the morning."

Alone in the drawing room, Dr Bishop turned to him and gave a mischievous smile. "Not quite the millennium, but I rather like it. It has the parts I enjoy, after all."

"Perhaps some other day we will see the year two thousand, sir," September said amicably as they left the room to go to their respective quarters.

"Quite right," the scientist agreed before his hand grabbed onto September's arm. "Aren't you coming to bed?"

September looked at his employer, who stood at the foot of the stairs that lead to the Bishops' bedrooms. "Sir?"

Dr Bishop nodded his head up towards the second floor. "To bed."

"Sir, I don't think…" For a second, September's formality dropped as he hissed, "Peter is still in the house."

"Oh, poo. You go wait and I'll scare him out." Dr Bishop ascended the stairs, calling out, "Peter! Peter!"

Sharing a bed was such a rare occasion, usually happening only a few times a year. September moved to his quarters quickly to retrieve his dressing gown and blue stripes for the night. He moved silently up the stairs and even though he didn't show it, he was very nervous to slip inside his employer's bedroom—he certainly didn't want Dr Bishop's son to see this arrangement. September quietly entered the dark room and carefully shut the door behind him then frowned; he could spend the entire day cleaning and tidying the man's room and overnight it would always warp back to disarray. He set his night clothes and gown down on the edge of the bed and began to pick up the clothes tossed here and there on the floor along with papers, books, and decapitated dolls painted to look like zeppelin captains.

Dr Bishop reentered the room, shutting the door behind him with a large grin on his face. "He's gone," he announced as he locked the door.

Sauntering over to September with a very smug look on his face, he explained. "I told him I had stuffed mackerel somewhere in his room. He said he'd noticed a slight fishy smell and he was going to go down to the inn to sleep."

September made a slight face as he bent down to pick up small crumbled candies littering the rug before the armoire. "I removed the fish this—I mean, yesterday morning while he was out. I could smell them from the hallway."

"Oh! I thought I'd imagined it!" he admitted delightedly then inspected him further as he continued moving around the room cleaning. "You know, you don't have to worry about that now. I have a valet who will clean it in the morning."

September could tell that Dr Bishop didn't realise that _he_ was the valet, but it really didn't matter at this time of night. "I can't sleep in a room that is in this state, sir."

Dr Bishop sighed and began to disrobe completely, tossing his clothes around the room while September quickly picked them up and folded them neatly to place on the chair nearest the door so he could take them downstairs in the morning to clean. September quickly changed into his night clothes (in the privacy of the bathroom, of course!) while Dr Bishop played completely in the nude with one of the dolls missing an arm and head.

September was quick to put out the gas lamps in the room and lay down on the bed, taking the left side so that Dr Bishop could lay closest to window, which he enjoyed looking out of. Dr Bishop, _Walter_, climbed into bed and pulled the sheets over them. Shoulder to shoulder, their hands found one another's. Walter's as always were warm and sweaty and September's were smooth to the point of being printless. They both released content sighs and stared at the dark ceiling. They truly were a perfect pair—order and chao, madness and sanity, bald and well, not bald.

Walter seemed to be thinking the same thing and nuzzled his face against September's neck. "Goodnight, my time traveling friend."

September's lips moved very slightly into the form of a smile. "Goodnight, sir."


End file.
